Faded by Christmas
by Kime Tara
Summary: {Sequel to Nibelheim Nightmares} Post-Meteor; Vincent decides to take up Tifa's offer from long ago. A Vincent:Tifa Christmas.


**Faded by Christmas**

By kimetara

Sequel to "Nibelheim Nightmares"

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII still.

          Six months was a long time.

          As he viewed people walk the dimly lit streets around him, laughing and talking and hugging and avoiding each others' eyes, that was the thought that continually ran through his mind.

          Six months was a long, long time to simply stand by and watch the world turn.

          Vincent Valentine never thought that he'd miss being able to feel.  Especially only six months after Sephiroth's defeat.  But he'd spent the last half year traveling the world, observing people interact around him, and the cold touch of isolation was no longer so pleasant.

          And he was curious about what he was missing.  Memories don't last forever; they fade into dimness, from color to black-and-white to gray.  It was getting harder and harder for him to recollect his past emotions...and Vincent did not want to become any less human.  It was enough, living with the knowledge of demons inside of him.  He didn't want to become one, and he had a vague sense that if – when – his memories of emotion completely slipped away, he would become no more than a walking vessel for his...counterparts.  It wasn't a future he looked forward to.

          Which would partly explain why he was currently walking the snow-covered streets of Nibelheim as people passed him by with odd glances.  It didn't matter.  He was only here to see one particular person.

          A week ago, resting on one of the islands of Wutai, he remembered a suggestion from a night that seemed eons away.  An offer of assistance, and although he had refused at the time, the small group had become closer over the journey.  And she had become close enough for him to reconsider.

          She should be here.  He had spoken to Cid a few days past, and the pilot had confirmed Vincent's suspicions.  Vincent reminded himself that he would have to be careful; he didn't know how she would receive his presence.

          He stopped in front of her door, and the curious glances ceased.  He suspected the people of Nibelheim had long ago become accustomed to strange visitors on her front porch.  After a pause, he lifted his hand and knocked.

          A few seconds later the door opened.  "Hello-?" she asked breathlessly, peering outside, then started and took a step back.  "Vincent!" she gasped, her eyes skimming all over him.  "...what are you doing here?  Where have you been?  Oh!"  She suddenly opened the door wider and stepped aside.  "Why don't you come in?"

          "Tifa," he nodded in acknowledgment, stepping inside from the winter chill.  She closed the door behind him, and at the click of the lock a strange claustrophobia fell upon him.  It disappeared almost instantly however.  "How are you?"

          "Me?" she smiled.  "Oh, you know me.  I'm fine, as always.  How about you?  None of us have seen hide or hair of you for months!" she chided.

          Vincent reasoned Cid had kept his coming a secret from her, although why he certainly didn't know.  "I was...traveling."

          "I see."  The smile nearly slipped off her face, but she held it there determinedly.  She waved a hand to the couch.  "Feel free to take a seat.  Do you want something to drink?  Hot chocolate?  I was just making some when you knocked."

          "That would be appreciated," he remarked, sinking onto the plush sofa.

          "Alright, just hold on one second."  She headed into the kitchen, and Vincent took this time to process what information he had managed to gather.

          She seemed to be doing well for herself.  Better than many of them had predicted, considering the circumstances.  At any rate, she certainly wasn't the sobbing mess he might have anticipated, had he known her a little less well.

          Even so, he was mildly surprised at her still apparent cheeriness.  It _had_ been five months since Cloud left, but...

          "Here you go.  I happened to make just enough for two people."  A mug of steaming liquid appeared before him, and Vincent accepted it easily.  She sat next to him on the other cushion, sipping her own hot chocolate and drawing her legs up on the cushion to watch him.  "So..." she cleared her throat, "how was your Christmas?"

          "The usual."

          "Oh."  Tifa shifted.  "It's...too bad you didn't show up last week.  We missed you at the party."

          "...I apologize."

          "Well, as long as you come to the next one."  She grinned.

          "I'll do my best."

          It became quiet again, and she blew lightly into the steam rising from her cup, watching the mist swirl.  He could sense that she wanted to talk, but wasn't sure what to talk about, so he decided to relieve her of the matter.

          "I came to ask...for a favor," he told her slowly, taking a careful sip of his drink.  Tifa nodded.

          "Sure.  What do you want me to do?"

          He hesitated still more at her immediate assent.  After so long, it was difficult to ask...and yet she acted as if they had just spoken to each other yesterday.  Would it be another sin to draw such a willing creature into his nightmares...?  If this succeeded, he didn't want any more guilt on his shoulders...

          "Vincent?" she prompted, interrupting his thoughts.  He minutely shook his head; it was too late now to back out.

          Still, he held off a little longer.  "...do you remember the conversation in the Nibel Mountains?

          "...yeah."  She took a sip of her drink, eyeing him carefully over the rim of the mug.  "About nightmares?"

          "Yes."

          She put the mug down and smiled, a hint of triumph in her gaze.  "You ready then?"

          He grimaced.  "Must you make it sound like a game?"

          She chuckled.  "I'm sorry.  Don't worry," she set the cup on the table and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "I don't think of it as a game at all."

          "...hmmm.  Well then, let's begin."  He also set the cup on the table and crossed his arms, uncomfortable.

          "...oh.  Right now?"

          "Yes."  He wanted to begin this before the urge to leave became too great.

          "Ah."  Tifa half-frowned as she absently wrapped her arms around her legs.  "I guess we should start by just talking about it."

          "...you guess?"

          She laughed embarrassedly.  "There's a reason I'm not a professional shrink, you know.  But we might as well talk, so that at least I won't be completely confused about what's going on."

          Vincent turned his eyes on the clock.  Ten p.m.  "It's late, and my story may take hours," he warned.

          "That's okay.  We have time."

          "Are you certain...?" he persisted, knowing it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.  Sure enough, her expression left no room for argument.  "...very well," Vincent sighed, resigned.

          It took a few moments to gather his thoughts, and a few more to force himself to speak of them, but eventually he began.

          Tifa listened intently as he commenced, noting that he started by telling her about Shinra in the past.  How then they were still learning about Mako, and any new information on the substance could be worth millions.  How he himself had been a Turk, at that time charged with protecting the current experiments of the scientists Professor Gast and his apprentice Hojo.  He briefly mentioned Lucrecia as Hojo's lab assistant and wife, then continued to the Jenova Project, a project of human enhancement, initially begun by Gast from the inspiration of the Ancient Ifalna.  He told her how Hojo had volunteered the pregnant Lucrecia as an experiment of the Jenova Project, how she became deathly ill, and then how he had gone into the basement to confront Hojo about her condition.

          "...I met him unarmed, and he shot me and I fell unconscious.  When I came to, I was lying on the operation table."  Vincent stopped there, and Tifa nodded thoughtfully.

          "That's plenty for tonight, Vincent.  ...it _is_ late now," a glance at the clock showed twelve eighteen, "why don't we get some sleep?"

          He nodded and rose from the couch, apparently leaving.  Tifa grabbed the edge of his cloak.

          "Hey, where do you think you're going?" she demanded.

          "...to the inn," he replied flatly.  She let the cloak go.

          "Don't be silly.  It's past midnight, and I do have a guestroom.  There's no need to walk halfway across Nibelheim to go to the inn.  Here, this way," she jumped up before Vincent could protest and strode briskly to the stairs.  "Let's go," she called, waiting impatiently.  Or at least, appearing to wait impatiently.  She was hoping that if she acted expectant enough, Vincent wouldn't protest.  He usually preferred to go with the flow than make a fuss, or at least he used to.

          Vincent shook his head.  "It isn't...appropriate."

          She stared at him incredulously.  "After all we've been through and all the nights we camped out less than five feet from each other, you're worried about sleeping in a separate room across the hall?"

          She could see him teetering.  Just a little bit more...  "I'm going to go ahead and get a few extra blankets," Tifa announced, starting up the stairs.  Slowly, she heard footsteps following behind her, and she secretly smiled as she took the spare blankets from a hallway closet.  She'd been playing on a hunch that Vincent wasn't the sort to leave behind her back, at least not while she was trying to do him a favor.  He always hated seeing effort go to waste, especially on him.

          "This is it," Tifa stopped in front of a door and pushed it open to reveal a neatly made bed with a small writing desk and chair.  "Sorry that it's kind of plain-"

          "It's fine."

          "Okay."  She moved forward, blankets in her arms.  "Just let me spread these out-"

          "I will do it," Vincent cut in curtly, taking the blankets from her.  "...thank you," he added, softer.

          "...you're welcome."  Feeling she had unknowingly crossed some invisible boundary, Tifa took a step back, a few inches beyond the doorframe.  Her hand had reflexively gone to the doorknob, from long habit ready to close it behind her.  "`Night Vincent."

          "Good night."

          She carefully shut the door and crossed the hallway to her own room.  Once safely behind her own door, she changed into her pajamas and sat on the bed, musing about Vincent's story.

          It was very...cut-and-dry, Tifa reflected.  The whole time he had been talking to her, it was so detached, as if he had been telling her the story of a complete stranger.  She would have to try to see if she could get him to personalize the telling a little bit, draw any sort of emotion into it.  She knew it was there, she had seen it every time she had caught Vincent sleeping – which wasn't often, but it was enough.  Nevertheless, to draw those feelings from his dreams to his conscious life...she felt a little in over her head.  Still, she had promised to help, and help she'd do in any way she could.  Tifa decided that next time, she'd try asking about Lucrecia.  Just what she looked like or something superficial along those lines.  Tifa didn't need to ask how he felt about her, yet at least.  One step at a time.

          That was really all she ever did when her friends came to her with troubles.  She listened and asked a few encouraging questions, and she let them come to their own conclusions.  It was from Tifa's experience that most people already knew how to solve their problems; they just needed to organize and hear them out loud.

          Having decided on what to do next, she lay down and set about gathering as much sleep as she could that night.

          At four in the morning, Tifa silently crept out of bed and padded across the few feet that separated her door from Vincent's.  Soundlessly pushing the door open, she carefully peeked inside, thankful for the nightlights she had plugged in every room.

          From what she could tell, he was currently curled on the bed, blankets coiled around his legs and one nearly completely on the floor.  The spare blankets she had carried up were still folded and lying at the foot of the bed, and seeing the state the current covers were in she could understand why he didn't bother to use them.

         As she watched, his head suddenly jerked to the side, and she could hear a low moan emit from his mouth.  His back arched as he twisted around, and the blankets tightened around him.  It was at this moment Tifa noticed he had taken his cloak off.

          It was the first time she had ever even glimpsed his entire face, and she scanned it carefully, utterly fascinated by the shadows and highlights created by the orange glow of the nightlight, by the unruly black locks freely falling around his head, for once unrestrained by that constant bandanna.  Tifa cautiously moved forward to look closer, a sense of déjà vu passing through the backdoor of her mind.

          Even with that harsh, pained expression...he was...stunning.  Absolutely.  She wasn't artistically gifted enough to give him words, but the hurt in his cry and the anguish on his face...it hit her empathetic chord hard, and she decided then and there she'd get him through this no matter what.  Her hand had already automatically reached out to wake him up, just like all the other times she had stumbled upon him dreaming.

          Sure enough, his hair was just as soft as she remembered...  At the touch of her hand his eyes snapped open, and his torment vanished in a blink.  He didn't snatch her wrist though, and for that she was grateful.  It showed he hadn't forgotten her.

          "Haven't faded yet, huh?" she asked, forcing herself to quip light-heartedly.  Although a rarely used routine, he had never again grabbed her after the second time.  Somehow he'd learned to recognize when it was her waking him up.  Maybe because she was the only human that ever did.

          "...no."  His eyes closed and his head dropped back on the pillow as he struggled to calm his racing heartbeat, taking a slow and deep breath.  When they reopened, he gazed straight at her, pure weariness evident in his features.  "...they've gotten worse," he admitted.  Tifa nodded.  She had suspected it as soon as she first glanced through the door.

          "I guess both of us are done sleeping for tonight," she shrugged, seating herself lightly on the bed.  Vincent shifted to detangle his body from the cloth and sit up, his mechanical arm placed in his lap.  "Since it's still much too early for anything decent, want to talk?"

          "...if you wish."

          "Okay.  Umm...why don't you tell me about Lucrecia?" she suggested.  "You hardly mentioned her earlier."  Besides helping Vincent to face his past, Tifa was also extremely interested in this woman that had managed to capture the attention of both Vincent and Hojo – and then chose Hojo.  She couldn't help but think that Hojo must've been pretty good-looking back then, since his personality certainly didn't back him up.

          ...he must have been pretty darn good-looking to beat Vincent.  She had a feeling it'd be a while before she'd be used to seeing his mouth.  And his chin.  Not that they were bad looking, on the contrary, she was quickly starting to love how refined and...attractive it made his entire face appear.

          At any rate, despite how badly Tifa simply wanted to gawk at her old friend, she had enough common sense to opt for listening.

          "Lucrecia..."  Vincent dropped his eyes to his remaining hand, turning it over to stare at his palm.  "She was a beautiful lady," he murmured.  Tifa nodded, waiting patiently, well acquainted with this bit of information – when they had first met, she had been struck by how he constantly repeated that.

          "...she had lovely green eyes," he continued after a moment.  "And...  You saw her, behind the waterfall, did you not?" he asked abruptly.

          "Yeah, I did."  She hadn't managed to get a good look at her, but she _had_ been pretty.  She...had a sort of beauty similar to Aeris', Tifa remembered.

          "Then I have nothing more to say."

          "What?  Wait," her brows furrowed together, "what do you mean?"

          "Exactly what I said."

          "But..." she frowned.  "Why did you fall in love with her?"

          Silence filled the little bedroom.  Vincent didn't turn away from studying the lines of his hand, and Tifa inwardly winced.  Way to go, Tifa, she thought.  She hadn't meant to ask such a personal question so fast, but it had just popped out...

          "I...don't know," he muttered, dropping his hand to rest on top of his claw and instantly nabbing her attention.  "It has been a long time.  I can't remember."

          "...you can't remember?" she pressed, careful to keep her tone gentle.

          "...I loved her for a year before I was locked away, and now it has been so long...  I've forgotten," he finished abruptly, his head turning upwards sharply to look at her.  Tifa only tilted her head to the side and folded her hands in her lap.

          "Hmm..." she mused, storing that bit of information away.  Later, maybe, she'd ask again.  "Okay."

          "Why did you fall in love with Cloud?" he asked before she could speak again.

          Vincent saw her eyes widen as their positions reversed.  He was almost sorry for asking; the memories for her would undoubtedly be painful.  However, if she were as well over him as she appeared then it shouldn't affect her too badly...and he knew he was wrong.  He shouldn't have forgotten.  He hadn't forgotten.  It was there, he just couldn't reach it – but perhaps, if he had something to start off of...

          Tifa swallowed and dropped her eyes to the ground, then looked back up at him, giving another forced smile.  "Just a childhood fantasy, I guess."

          The flat look he gave her spoke well enough.

          "...I wanted to rely on somebody too much."  She pulled a leg to her chest and bent over, placing her chin on her knee as she gazed at the floor.  "It's weak, but I've always wanted to have something to lean on.  And Cloud...he makes me feel important.  Like I'm worth more than a person on the street.  And he's so strong, he tries to take my burdens for me, even if he doesn't know it.  Besides...he always comes back."

          "That's where it started, I guess.  He always came back safely, and I started to rely on him to be there.  And then Aeris came, and...before she was around, it wasn't much, just a little crush.  But when she arrived, I thought about it all the time."  She hugged her leg tighter.  "I was always comparing my relationship with him to hers.  And every time I came up short.  With all the attention I was constantly giving him, it turned into an...infatuation, you could say."  Tifa shrugged.  "And then when I thought he was dead...the depth of it all just slammed into me."  She smiled bitterly.  "I still can't believe how completely I fell apart when he was in the Lifestream.  I mean, here we were, trying to save the world, and I was depressed and being a downer at the time I should have been the most optimistic.  And then I just left to take care of him...  I'm sorry I let everybody down."

          ...so that's why he couldn't remember.  Of course.  She loved him based on feelings, not reasons, and he couldn't recall those anymore.  He brushed that aside and took in her dejected composure, feeling he should say something.  Vincent had never been skilled at comforting but Tifa was the sort who needed kindness, and she had always been accepting and caring of him, so he tried.  "You were not to blame.  What's past is past, and in the end...it aided us all."

          She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug.  "Yeah."  Tifa tilted her face upwards, staring at the dark ceiling.  "Anyway, a month after we beat Sephiroth, he upped and left.  He said his good-bye and walked out the door.  It's...not so bad though.  I mean, I knew it was coming, and...it's not as if he left me in the middle of the night..." she bit her lip.

          "...and you still love him," he stated impassively.

          "...yes."

          "And you're still waiting for him to return."

          Her shoulders tensed.  "What are you talking about?"

          "Will you deny it?"

         A troubled frown on her face, Tifa slowly turned her eyes to meet Vincent's.  He gazed sternly back at her, and after a moment her eyes dropped to watch her fingers fiddle with the corner of a blanket.

          "...no.  But he'll come back," she added impulsively.  "He always comes back..."

          "After half a year?"

          "I've waited more than that," she declared, a hint of defiance in her tone.  Vincent shook his head.

          "You don't have such time anymore.  Your life will go to waste..."

          "I'm still young.  I'm only twenty-one."  The leg dropped to the floor as she crossed her arms.

          "Time passes quicker than one imagines.  The years will fly by, and eventually you will find yourself no longer so young," he uttered grimly, then swung his legs off the bed and stood, reaching for the cloak carefully placed over the back of the chair.  Tifa stood as well.

          "What are you doing?" she asked, watching him fasten the cloak around him.

          "...I cannot burden a person with my troubles when their own life is unstable.  When you have accepted the truth, I may return."

          Tifa stared in shock, her fury steadily rising.  "When I have accepted the truth, _you_ may return?" she repeated in disbelief.  "How dare you!  You have no right to be so condescending!" she growled through gritted teeth, clenching her fists.

          "...I wasn't attempting to be condescending."  He stopped tying the bandanna around his head to glance at her.  "I was merely expressing the truth."

          "That's not true!  Cloud will come back!" she cried.  Vincent ignored her and turned towards the doorway, but Tifa beat him to it.  She rushed to stand in front of the door, glaring at him, reminding him vaguely of a cat backed into a corner.  "He'll come back," she repeated, standing her ground.

          He suddenly knew that she would stand there for as long as it took.  He knew by the hidden desperation in her eyes that she was balanced between her own conviction and her fear...and her trust in his opinion.  And that was a balance impossible to maintain.  He had no choice.

          "...he's not coming back this time, Tifa," Vincent ground out, hating himself for having to do this to her.  He forced his tone to be gentle in an effort to soften the blow, but knowing at the same time it would only increase it.  "I spoke to him a week ago."  Increase it, because she wouldn't doubt him when he was trying to be kind.

          "O-oh..."  Her face paled, but she drew herself up stiffly.  "What did he say?"

          "That he wasn't planning a return," Vincent replied bluntly.  He never had been once to mince words.  "He feels badly for leaving and inquired after your health, but he isn't coming back."

          He isn't coming back.  Tifa sank down to her knees, her legs suddenly boneless beneath her.  "Cloud..." she whispered, clutching her midriff as she bent over, forehead nearly touching the floor.  Her dark hair cascaded around her, effectively shielding her expression.

          For a split second, Vincent wanted to simply walk over her and make his exit, but he knew that if he left her alone at this moment he could never return.  Besides...that initial impulse paled next to his concern for her health, and he reluctantly crossed the room to crouch down in front of her.  "Tifa?"

          "...what?" she murmured, unmoving.  He sighed.

          "Will you be alright?"

          "Alright...?"  Unexpectedly, she laughed bitterly from behind her curtain, and she lifted her head to meet his gaze.  Her eyes were bright, but her cheeks were dry.  "Sure, Vincent.  I'll be just lovely.  Right now though, looks like we're both messed up, huh?"

          A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, one she couldn't see behind the high collar.  "Still such a sense of humor."  Her head dropped once more, and satisfied that in time she would be fine, Vincent rose gracefully to his feet.  "...I'll go now."

          "Wait.  Please."  He tilted his head to the side, puzzled by her request.  "Don't go."

          He shifted his weight uncomfortably.  "My presence won't be consoling-"

          "That's fine.  I don't want somebody consoling."  She curled up tighter into herself, her hands balling at her sides.  "I just want...somebody here."

          Mystified at why she would wish for him to stay but unwilling to deny such a request, Vincent crouched back down.  "...are you certain?"

          "Absolutely."  After a pause she braced her hands on the floor and pushed herself up, her expression carefully blank.  "If you need to go though, don't let me hold you back."

          "...no.  There's...nowhere I need to be," he answered, accepting the commitment.  She smiled weakly.

          "Thanks," she replied sincerely.  "So..." Tifa crossed the room to sink back on the bed, "why don't you tell me about Hojo?"

          After a moment, Vincent pulled the chair from the desk and sat down to begin.  He had a feeling it would be a long night.

          That's how things continued for a several months.  Tifa would often ask questions about his past, forcing him to probe deeper than he had allowed himself before.  And gradually, his nightmares receded to their original intensity.

          At times he would catch her with tears in her eyes, and the nights she didn't visit his bedside he knew she spent crying.  She came by his room often though, to wake him from his sleep and to simply have company.  By now, Vincent had realized Tifa's need for companionship.  He suspected she used it as a distraction from her own pain.  An intelligent course of action.

          But as his nightmares faded so did her tears, though her midnight visits continued, and he progressed in reclaiming his feelings much quicker than he expected.  There had been a few rough spots, naturally, but by the next December when he recalled his memories he could feel all the pain and sweetness of them.  And he could feel in his waking life, frustration and anger and pain, kindness and caring and love.

          "Thank you," he told her one day when they had finished discussing his operation.  It hurt to remember now, but it was a bittersweet pain, and he accepted it as a part of his life.

          "Hmm?"  She turned her head to glance at him, having previously been focused on the ceiling.  She was draped across his bed as he sat with one knee bent on the other end, the snow once more falling outside the window.

          "I would still be...emotionless, without your assistance," he explained further.  She smiled and stared back up at the ceiling.

          "Nah.  You started opening up as soon as you decided you wanted to.  I just nudged things along a little bit," Tifa declared.  "The old Vincent wouldn't have stayed with me that night."

          "...if you say so."  Perhaps that was true.  Or perhaps it was his care for her had made him begin to 'open up'.  He decided not to press the issue.

          "...there's just one thing we haven't hit yet, I think," she mused.

          "What is it?"

         She rolled over to lay on her stomach and wriggled around so she could see him, propped up on her elbows.  He half-smiled at her antics, and Tifa grinned back.  She had long ago persuaded him to leave the cloak off, at least in the house.  Outside, it was useful to hide his mechanical limb, but they both suspected the people of Nibelheim were quite used to him by now.

          It had been almost a year, after all.

          "...why did you fall in love with Lucrecia?"

          Why indeed?  He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair.

          "She was...very intelligent.  Extremely kind and accepting of all people, even those would didn't deserve it."  He unconsciously laid his hand on his metal arm, but Tifa reached out to tug it off and took a hold of his claw herself.  For some reason beyond his comprehension she always loved to study it.  "Bright and cheerful, she was beloved by many.  She laughed often, and when she smiled one automatically smiled with her.  She walked with grace and was full of passion in whatever endeavor she chose to pursue.  ...she was a very strong, beautiful lady," he summed up, gazing softly upon the top of Tifa's dark head.

          "Wow....all that, hmmm?" Tifa asked, for some reason subdued as she peered at the smooth golden surface.

          "...she must have been, for myself to have loved her as much as I love you now."

          She snapped up from her studying at that, her eyes astonished and hopeful.  He smiled faintly, hiding his nervousness well.  "Merry Christmas, Tifa."

          Tifa scrambled to her knees and leaned over to fling her arms around Vincent, holding him tightly as she burrowed her face in the crook of his neck, loving the way his hair slid through her fingers.  He returned the embrace gladly, wrapping his arms possessively around her slim body as he placed his chin on the top of her head.

          Abruptly she pulled back and scrutinized him, and he waited, patient.  Apparently satisfied, Tifa grinned then leaned in, her breath just barely brushing his lips as she whispered back at him.

          "Merry Christmas, Vincent."

AN: Aww, sap!  I haven't written sap in a long time.  Hmm...maybe this story's too cliché...  *frown*  Well, happy holidays to all!  I'm always nervous when I write sequels, because I'm afraid of not living up to my previous work.  Even so, I hope you all enjoyed reading.  ...by the way, reviews work well as presents.  =)


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